


The Girl with the Crocodile Tattoo

by DarcyFarrow



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Rumbelle is Hope, season 1 setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-09 14:36:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6911188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarcyFarrow/pseuds/DarcyFarrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rumple tweaks the Land Without Magic curse so he and Belle can be together while they're waiting for the savior.  Now they just need a way to recognize each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Girl with the Crocodile Tattoo

"Thirty years," she muttered as she undressed for bed. And again, "Thirty years."

One of several not-too-bad habits she had was talking to herself, a potentially dangerous habit if she had any secrets she wished to keep, considering her husband's supernatural sense of hearing. She'd spoiled many a birthday and Middlemass surprise in the early days of their relationship, until he'd promised to do his best not to eavesdrop in exchange for her promise to do her best not to mutter. But these were stressful days, with the Evil Queen teetering on the precipice of casting the Curse to End All Curses, and Belle had slipped back into old habits. 

"Twenty-eight, sweet one." Her husband came up behind her, took the hairbrush from her hand and urged her to sit on the bed so he could brush out her hair.

"Might as well be thirty," she grumbled, but nevertheless leaned back against his bare chest, surrendering to the comfort that having her hair brushed brought and the reassurance that his slow breathing against her ear provided. "Rumple, why couldn't it be eighteen? Or sixteen. What can the savior do at twenty-eight that she couldn't do at sixteen?"

"The Sight doesn't show me why's and wherefore's, just what's." He always used both hands when he brushed her hair, one to pull the brush, the other to lift the locks so that the stiff bristles wouldn't scratch her neck. He could be so considerate of such small things, her husband; it was one of a hundred qualities she adored him for. "It will pass in the blink of an eye."

To him, yes; twenty-eight was a tenth of his years, but to her, it was an entire lifetime. He tended to forget that. "Why can't we be together under our cursed identities?"

She tended to forget she'd asked that question a hundred times before. "The purpose of Regina's curse is to rob everyone of their loved ones, and that, unfortunately, must include us. She believes the only way she can ease her own misery is to make others lonely. She'll learn soon enough that's not the case. Her own loneliness will weaken the curse and prepare us for the savior's arrival. But sweetheart," he pressed his mouth to her ear, "I have a little surprise for you." 

She swung around in his arms to face him. "What is it?"

"I managed to sneak a tiny coded command into the curse." His eyes danced with mischief, but he held up a finger in warning. "Now, before you get your hopes up, it will require the utmost self-restraint from both of us; Regina must never suspect I've tinkered with her rules, or else she'll make those twenty-eight years torture. It's crucial that we keep this secret from everyone, including your father. Agreed?"

"Agreed," she vowed, though she didn't fully know what she was agreeing to. She trusted him implicitly. "What is it, Rumple? The surprise?"

"We cannot be lovers under the curse, but we can take care of each other, keep each other safe while we wait for the savior." He watched her closely, a satisfied smile blooming on his face.

"Won't that be dangerous? Right now she doesn't know we're married; we've kept me hidden from her. But in the new land, if Regina sees us together, happy—"

"What she will see is a reclusive, irascible middle-aged man and the young maid who cooks for him and cleans his house. What she'll think she's seeing is Rumplestiltskin, who despises royals, even ones with beautiful blue eyes, because they remind him that no amount of gold can change his lowly upbringing, now dependent upon one for his meals. What else she'll think she's seeing is a high-born woman scrubbing floors on her knees for a living."

"In other words, two unhappy people, making each other uncomfortable." Belle tilted her head as she imagined the scene. "For thirty years."

"Twenty-eight. We'll be Mr. Gold and Ms. French, sniping at each other in public. In private, friends. Though we cannot live together, Belle; that would be too dangerous. Still, we'll see each other every day."

"Will we be aware who we really are?"

"Not until the savior arrives and wakes us up." He gathered her hair in his hands and let it fall about her shoulders. "But we'll know we belong together. There will be a trigger that enables us to recognize something in each other. . . I haven't figured out what."

She ran her hands up his arms, resting them on his shoulders. She grinned suddenly, squeezing his right shoulder. "I know just the thing." As she stroked his arm, he grinned too, figuring it out.  
\-----------  
On an unseasonably hot spring day in Storybrooke, Maine, Ms. French brushed her damp locks back from her sweaty face and glared at the pair of Italian loafers leaving footprints all over her freshly scrubbed kitchen floor. Straightening her aching back, she took her frown from the polished shoes up the pressed pants leg, past the crisp white t-shirt (all of this neatness her handiwork, for she never let Mr. Gold leave the house with a smudge or wrinkle). She was about to chew him out for the damage he'd done to her floor, but his earthy brown eyes peering down at her took her breath away. She wasn't supposed to feel such feelings for the man who paid her wages, so she made sure to keep an appropriate distance, but she really did like the old vulture. 

He held a silk dress shirt in his hands. "Ms. French, I seem to have lost a button. Would you be so kind. . . ." And then his voice caught, his eyes widened, and a grin tugged at his mouth. He breathed a name: "Belle."

"Mr. Gold?" He never called her by her first name. Puzzled, she followed his gaze to her shoulder. In the heat, she'd worn a sleeveless blouse today: he was staring at her bare left shoulder. Instinctively she grabbed her arm, covering the evidence of a teenage dare she'd accepted one night long ago. Ruby had gotten a wolf tattoo on her ankle, then had challenged Belle. Though why Belle had chosen a crocodile and not something cute, she never understood. It was a bold choice, a rampant blue crocodile with her name emblazoned on a banner beneath it.

She leaned back on her calves as she looked back up at him. He shifted to the left, rolling up the right sleeve of his t-shirt. She could see it then: a rampant blue crocodile inked into his skin, with a word scrolled underneath, and she clambered to her feet, his hands darting out to lift her by the elbows. She positioned herself at his right side, their shoulders touching, the crocs a perfect match for each other, and she read the tattooed names aloud, his and hers: "Rum—Belle."

She gasped. His hands dove into her hair and his mouth crashed against hers. "Belle!"

"Rumple!" She kissed him back with equal ferocity. "But I thought we weren't supposed to—"

"Wake up until the savior—". He was just as breathless as she was.

"Is she—?"

"It's too soon."

"The curse must be starting to crack without her!" Belle cheered.

"True Love," he guessed. "More powerful than any curse. We'll have to pretend—"

"Of course," she laughed and sobbed at the same time. "I'm just so glad we're together again."

"We never were apart," he chuckled. "We just didn't know it." He kissed her as he lifted her by the waist and swung her around, forgetting his damaged ankle. When he set her down at last, both panting from the exertion, he pressed his fingers against her shoulder. "My princess with the crocodile tattoo."

She stroked his shoulder. "My sorcerer. Why did we choose crocodiles, anyway?"

He shrugged. "A little too much mead that night? I seem to recall the choice was between dragons or crocodiles." 

"I seem to recall I wanted unicorns."

He snorted. "The fearsome Dark One with a unicorn on his shoulder? It would've put me out of business."

She kissed his tattoo. "Never mind, Dark One. We're here, we're together, and the savior's coming." She waved her rough, red hand toward the west. "And somewhere out there—"

"Bae."

She took his shirt away from him. "But for now, I have a shirt to mend and you've got a shop to open. Go upstairs and get a fresh shirt." She swatted his butt.

He headed for the stairs but grinned back at her. "Brilliant idea, these tattoos. I love you, Ms. French."

"I love you too, Mr. Gold."


End file.
